


Bard of Jyn

by katbear



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katbear/pseuds/katbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young minstrel is caught in a war to repel invaders from his beloved lord's kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bard of Jyn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the ConStrict Zine 2014.  
> Thanks to the beta readers who made this a better story (Merry Amelie, Kalu Jinn, Monalee).  
> Art by Sian for Constrict Zine.

 

 

 

 

 

Quen, King of Jyn, strode through the encampment. Tall and regal of bearing but with early lines furrowing his brow, he often leaned down to listen to the murmurs of his tired troops in the night, touching a shoulder here, a mail-covered back there. He spoke to many, calling them by name, quiet words of thanks and reassurance, spreading confidence and hope. He stopped at a half dozen of the largest fires. After an encouraging speech about the battle they expected the next morning, each time Quen finished with the same request.

"Benek, give us some songs to cheer the night, if you please!"

"Aye, my liege." A young man stepped forward from the shadows, a harp in one hand and a sword in a battered leather scabbard hanging from his belt.

The king's bard gathered his harp into his arms and struck a vibrant opening chord with sure hands. Benek began with a couple of rousing sing-alongs to inspire martial valor. He moved around the fire, encouraging men to clap or stamp to the vigorous beat. Next he slowed his steps as he sought to dial down the emotional fever to a reminiscent fondness with a few songs about hearth and home to remind the soldiers why they fought to repel the invader. Benek changed his lyrics to call out memories of specific villages and towns to match his audience, watching their reactions of nodding heads, pursed lips and the occasional clasped hands with companions.

Always a part of Benek's attention was on the king – when he saw a small smile of approval, he shifted his focus to move the men into a good mood.

"Romod – where's your horse tonight?" called Benek with a big grin.

"Over the hill and down the river most likely," replied the huge, muscular sergeant with a good-natured shrug while his companions chuckled at the long-standing joke about his mount's renowned ability to slip his picket and roam.

A voice from the back yelled, "Give us the one about the wandering bull."

Benek smiled, having gotten the reaction he wanted, and launched into the long and mildly profane ditty about the black bull who visited all the farms during the night and the various cows he made happy. The soldiers roared out the chorus about the bull's mighty jewels, grinning, elbowing each other with knowing leers and stamping to the beat again.

Fine-tuning a few strings to create a pause, Benek waited until the laughter had settled into quiet. "My friends, I would beg your indulgence to finish with a little piece of my own."

"Aye!"

"Sing away!"

"Listen to the bard!"

Benek nodded, then stroked several chords as the men drew closer together. It was a song based on one of his poems, an ode to the king of Jyn with a beautiful, heartfelt melody. His clear voice rose above the enchanted silence and crackling of the fire. At the end, Benek held his harp up in the air and called for a cheer; his was the loudest voice leading the huzzahs for their beloved king and victory.

After their last visit, Quen and Benek climbed to the top of the tallest hill that dominated the west end of the valley where their tents stood.

The waxing moon was reflected on the broad river to their left, but much of the valley floor lay in shadowy darkness. The air was clear with just a hint of the crispness of the approaching autumn. Lights of the enemy campfires twinkled at the other end of the long valley, seeming to nestle at the base of low foothills. Further away, Benek could see the black, white-tipped peaks of the mountain range that marked the boundary of Jyn.

The pale light shone on the simple silver circlet that held back Quen's shoulder-length brown hair, and picked out the recent streaks of gray in hair and short-cropped beard. The stress and sorrow of the nearly year-long struggle to take back his kingdom from the ruthless barbarians of Rakkon showed in his subdued eyes and slumped shoulders. The Rakkons, who had stormed across the borders, taking what they wanted and destroying much of the rest, were clearly weighing on his mind. Somewhere behind them, the soft whickering of picketed horses carried on the light night breeze.

Quen's blue eyes were somber as he surveyed the valley. His hand rested on the pommel of the long sword that hung from his broad leather belt, fingers curved around the large green jewel that marked it as his own.

"This will be a good place to make our stand, Benek. The river is still high with the last of the summer snowmelt; it will keep the bastards from rounding our left flank. We will set up the front line at the edge of the plain, there, where the Rakkons can see us, with flags flying," Quen pointed at an area well in front of the camp and its sheltering trees, "and wait until he brings his warriors out onto the plain before we stir. Jukovkn is proud, arrogant and impatient. He has never yet resisted the temptation to make the first move, especially if he feels he is being taunted or challenged, and I doubt he will change that strategy on the morrow. It may have served him well in the past, but it will be his undoing this time."

A grim smile flashed across Quen's lips. "From bitter experience, Mandoro has grown skilled in his battle cunning and the men trust him, as do I." There was pride in his voice for his oldest son. "He has sent word they are in position according to his new plan and have not been detected." Quen pointed this time to his right, halfway up the valley. "When Jukovkn engages, we will buy time for the heavy cavalry to push them down into the central valley, then Mandoro's infantry will charge their rear. If all goes well, we will be able to scatter the Rakkons and drive them back. If we kill enough of them this time, maybe they'll finally go away."

"They are fierce and excellent fighters, Majesty. It will not be easy." Benek stared across the valley as if envisioning the horrors of the next day, hearing echoes of previous bleeding grounds that had led to this hopefully final clash.

"All too true." Sadness was deep in Quen's voice. "There has been too much blood spilled already, too many good people maimed or killed, but these butchers will not accept any other answer but more blood."

"Aye." Benek sighed as he turned to look at his king. He pitched his voice low as he continued, "I remember that it was only the beauty of this place you had eyes for when we last visited here with Queen Elora, my liege, not the strategic points of a battlefield."

Quen stilled, seeming to almost stop breathing as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. "That was such a different time then," he finally whispered. "It seems like an age since those days, but that was, what… only four years ago."

He opened his eyes and looked at Benek. "We were all younger then and life was sweet." He gave a tiny laugh from his throat. "You were fifteen, only a few years removed from when I took you in after your parents died. You could still barely swing your father's sword properly, but your mother's harp, ah, you already played like an angel. I remember how Elora would listen for hours to your songs and stories as we traveled about the kingdom that year." Quen reached over to tousle Benek's russet hair with a big smile. "And I remember how mortified you were when your voice broke at the banquet Duke Windis held for us." He laughed again, a bigger laugh with genuine happiness.

"Aye, Majesty." Benek smiled in self-deprecation. "As I recall, I had been rather full of myself, so proud of that high tenor. I thought I would die when that horrible croak emerged from my mouth."

"You hid away for a week until Lomeera managed to coax you out to play again, but then the two of you always had a soft spot for each other." Quen shook his head, his eyes distant, perhaps remembering his daughter's triumphant grin when she had produced the reluctant bard and his harp at lunch. "But I think I prefer that baritone you finally grew into. It makes me happy when you sing and I believe Elora would have loved it if she had lived."

"I'm glad you approve, and I like to think the queen would have also. Perhaps she hears it from heaven, or looks down on us when the moon shines."

Quen looked around, his gaze slowly running across the valley, the river and beyond to the mountains as if seeing them anew. "Perhaps she does." He took a deep breath. "This is the sort of night she loved. Warm and soft, with enough light to walk." He turned to face Benek. "It is a beautiful night, full of life, regardless of what the future holds, and I thank you for reminding me of it."

Quen rubbed the edge of his chin with the back of a finger for few moments before he spoke again. "You know, sometimes I wish I could have been a simple farmer or a forester. I've always loved to work with my hands and grow things, even though the queen used to laugh at me and claim it wasn't 'proper', but I suppose I haven't always cared enough for what was proper, just what I needed to do as my duty for my people."

Reaching out a long arm, the king rested a hand on his bard's shoulder, gave it a squeeze and a pat before letting his hand fall back.

"I am glad that you've been at my side all these years, Benek, especially these last few when things have been so difficult. I know there were some naysayers when I took in that skinny little boy, but your father was one of my finest warriors and your mother was a beautiful, gentle soul. I couldn't let you go to an orphanage or to somebody else. You've been a credit to your parents and to your father's sword. I only wish you hadn't needed to use that sword so much on my behalf this past year."

"I am grateful you took me in, Majesty, and I appreciate the opportunities you have given me. It is an honor to serve you." Benek hesitated, then stepped a little closer. "May I speak freely, my liege?"

"Of course, Benek." Quen gave a nod of encouragement. "I value your thoughts."

"Tomorrow will be a dangerous affair. We have pushed the Rakkons out here to the edge of the kingdom and I fear they will be desperate; there is no telling what ill fortune might befall any of us. There are things I need to say, in case…" Benek fell silent. He looked down as he licked his lips with unwonted uncertainty.

"It's alright, Benek." Quen smiled. "Say what is on your mind, although I warn you that if you intend to ask me to hang behind on the field that will be a request I cannot grant."

Benek looked up and shook his head. "Nay, I know better than to even think of such a thing." He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders. "My liege, I have learned much in the seven years I've been privileged to be part of your court, much about you and about myself. You are a wonderful man, kind and gentle but a determined defender of justice and your people. I admire you, indeed, more than admire you. But I couldn't help noticing the way you sometimes look at me, and how you have kept me close these last few years." Benek felt his gut tighten with the need to release the words he had kept locked away for so long. He clenched his hands to keep them from a betraying tremor. "My king, my lord, I can no longer hold inside a secret that burns to be released ever more fiercely each time we face danger. I must tell you that I love you, and I need to know if there is any chance you have feelings for me."

There was a long silence as Quen stared out over the valley. Finally, he sighed, a note of regret barely discernible in the soft wisp of breath. "Benek, you have been a true and faithful companion, a valuable member of the court family. But I have duties to my people, to my kingdom. If I have led you to think that I may have room for other things in my life, then I apologize. I would not have you go into battle with false hope."

"My liege, you have done your duty and done it well. Your kingdom has prospered under your guidance and your people love you. You married the woman your father told you to marry; you've given the kingdom three fine sons and a beautiful daughter, all of whom are capable and just as honorable as you. But the queen has been dead these three years, sire." Benek moved to within a small step of the king. "I say that you have done your duty and far more than duty demanded. You are entitled to at least some small enjoyment in life. I have it on good authority that there was a time when you were not averse to sharing pleasure with another man... I would like to be the man to remind you of that pleasure and bring you more."

Quen drew a sharp breath. "I shall not inquire from whence you obtained that information; I had thought that long buried." He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked squarely down into his bard's face. "Benek, you are certainly a comely young man and modest about your greats talents, too. I've seen the way both women and men watch you, want you... even my daughter has spoken of you with desire. You have your entire life ahead of you if we survive this war. Even if it was something I agreed to, why waste your time on an old man when there are so many who would be happy to bed you, not only for just a night's pleasure but to marry you. I can name at least a dozen who would give all they have to be yours and would make you a wealthy man if you just said the word."

"My liege, that is a word I cannot give. The heart wants what it wants, and my heart has only ever wanted one thing. I have touched no other," Benek put a hand on Quen's arm, "and will never touch another if I can't have you. I have seen your eyes when you thought none were looking. If I saw only what I wanted to see, then tell me I was wrong, that you feel only as a father might feel for a son and not as a man feels for another." Benek leaned in close, eyes intent. "It may be impertinent or above my station, but I will not apologize for what I have said. I cannot when my heart beats only for you, when my heart cries out only for you. Look into my eyes, my liege, and tell me I'm wrong, that you do not share even an iota of these same feelings, and no more words of this sort shall ever pass my lips."

"This is not wise, Benek." Quen's lips were pursed, but his touch was gentle as he loosed Benek's hand from his arm. "My duties come before any personal desires I might have and all of my focus must be on the battle and our people. I cannot answer your questions now nor divert the energy to ponder what you ask. I'm sorry, but there is too much at stake tomorrow. You'd best go get what rest you may, as should I."

Benek stepped away and bowed his head. "I understand, my liege, and I apologize for distracting you." He turned on his heel, back stiff, and headed down the hill, ignoring the stifled call the breeze carried in his direction.

**** **** **** ****

A small stub of a candle gave off only a few feet of light in the early morning dimness, but it was enough for Benek to find and pack his few possessions into a bag. He slid his harp into its leather case and slung it over his back, then sat staring down absently at his naked sword.

"Hey, why so gloomy, my friend? This isn't a time to be sitting around on your ass."

Karas, second son of the king and leader of the guerrilla forces that were used to scout and harass the enemy, gave a clout to Benek's shoulder and motioned to the bard to stay seated. He had the blue eyes and wiry strength of his father as well as a full measure of his sire's self-confidence, but also a high degree of profane, quirky independence. He was only a few years older than Benek and had been the first to befriend the lonely young orphan after Quen had made him a ward of his court. As Jyn had lost troops in battle after battle, Karas had championed the new concept of allowing women, sharp-eyed and fleet of foot, to join his bowmen, an idea which had quickly begun paying dividends with new recruits flocking to his banner.

"Guess I was just thinking about today," shrugged Benek, not willing to divulge the true object of his contemplations. "It's going to be difficult, but there's much at stake."

"Don't worry, we'll send them packing. My boys and girls will be out in the woods, so feel free to chase the sons of bitches our way." Karas smiled as he affectionately patted his longbow. "Vilya and I will ensure the fucking jackals don't make it back out."

"I'm sure you will. Your people have done a wonderful job for months."

"Compose a song about us when we get home." Karas laughed, then gave a suggestive wink. "Write one that will make people appreciate our exploits and many charms."

"As if you needed any help with that!" Benek made a wry expression and shot an obscene finger gesture at the prince.

"That's better! You'll need your wits about you this day if you're going to take proper care of the king." Karas punched his friend on the shoulder again and went on his way without waiting for a reply, humming a fierce tune.

Benek nodded, watching his friend depart before rising and sheathing his sword. Grim determination settled over his features as he made his way to where the soldiers were gathering.

**** **** **** ****

The morning light glinted off the helmets and lances of the Jyn forces. A half mile from the treeline, the infantry troops formed up in company-size units across a long front. On the right flank, a troop of cavalry was visible; a far larger contingent of horsemen lurked within the cover of the trees on the left flank. In the center of the line a heavily armed group of warriors waited just behind the tall figure who sat calmly aboard his black war horse about fifteen feet in front of his army. Behind the front troops a line of archers set up batches of arrows within easy reach. The ground they held was uphill from the central plain and smooth underfoot for a long stretch, unlike the uneven ground broken by streams and rocky outcroppings in the middle.

Benek looked around as he sat aboard his nimble bay gelding. Flags snapped in the breeze and he could feel the tense atmosphere of the troops. He stood in his stirrups and stared across the seemingly endless plain where nothing appeared to be stirring. From his position with the king's secondary guard, he craned his neck but could see no signs of Mandoro's hidden troops in the dense forest that ran raggedly along much of the small valley. He settled back into his saddle and rolled his shoulders to relieve his tension, wishing they could start and be done with the waiting.

For long minutes, nothing happened. Benek heard the shuffling of feet, clanking of weapons and the sharp bark of officers quelling nervous chatter. The horses caught their riders' strained emotions and many tossed their heads and stamped their feet or sidestepped. A slow drop of sweat meandered down Benek's face and he wiped it away.

"Call for the King's bard!"

Benek started, then urged his horse forward to join Quen.

"Ah, there you are." Quen smiled. "It seems the Rakkons have been lying abed this fine morning. Let's give them something to wake them up."

"Aye, my liege." Benek unslung his harp and pulled it from its case, tying off the case to his saddle. He took a few moments to check the tuning of the strings before striking up a chord.

Quen turned his horse to the left, walking along the front of the line. "Something lively and easy to sing would be just the thing."

Benek's horse was well trained to leg and weight signals; he followed a few feet behind the king's warhorse as Benek began singing a set of drinking songs. Soldiers quickly caught on and enthusiastically joined in as they passed each company.

After one pass up and down the line they returned to their original position. It was still quiet across the way, so Quen smiled, a small upward quirk of the corners of his lips, and urged his horse forward to amble toward the center of the valley.

Benek followed but looked back several times at the growing space between them and their troops, his unease growing with each stride. "Is this a good idea, Majesty?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low enough to be heard only by the two of them.

"We'll soon find out, I think. Do you have some rude ditties in your repertoire?"

"Aye, I know a few," muttered Benek grudgingly.

"Excellent. Sing to the Rakkons, the ruder the better." Quen was relaxed and sat his horse as if they were out for a pleasant afternoon stroll.

Benek rolled his eyes, then shrugged and took a deep breath. He started off with something he considered mild; by the time he was finished, he thought he could perhaps see a bit of activity in the forest at the other end of the valley.

"I think we could surely do a bit better than that, my bard." There was a twinkle in Quen's eye. "I know you've spent time with the soldiers and they're not known for their elegant speech."

"No, my liege, they are not." Benek shook his head with a reluctant grin. He was pretty sure what Quen had in mind, and decided that as long as he was already out here he might as well get into the spirit of their little adventure. "I believe I have some suitable pieces."

By now, they were a considerable distance from their troops, so they slacked their reins and let the horses grab some bites of grass. Benek took a few deep breaths, then began projecting as loud as he could across the fields. His voice must have carried very well in the morning air; after he finished a drinking song in which he described Rakkon ugliness and laziness, he no longer had to doubt the movement in the enemy camp. He launched into a new song about Jukovkn, their leader, and in colorful, filthy terms made clear his alleged deficiencies in love-making with a long litany of women, crones, men and animals who refused his advances. When he got to the verse about the pig in the sty, a flurry of arrows came sailing toward them but fell short of their mark. The missiles, however, were followed by a line of enemy soldiers advancing at a quick march.

"I think this would be a good time to return to our own lines," said Quen, still with a smile on his face.

"An excellent idea, Majesty." Benek stuffed his harp into its case, picked up his reins and wheeled his horse around.

"Slowly, Benek," said the king, keeping a tight rein on his own eager mount.

"Aye, my liege." Benek understood why, but it didn't prevent his pulse from speeding up with dread of an arrow in his back as they walked their horses across the open ground that made them clear targets. By the time they reached their positions on the line he was sure the whole army could hear his heart hammering. The cheers as Quen took his place again did little to calm him.

Despite his hard-won experience, Benek could not quiet his heart as the well-disciplined Rakkons advanced with horns, drums and yells. The Rakkon infantry was in large groups with openings for their light cavalry to advance; their numbers were still large despite having been whittled down by the last several months of fighting. They outnumbered the Jyn forces visible on the field and Benek fervently hoped Jyn's heavy cavalry and Mandoro's secret battalion would be enough to turn the battle in their own favor.

The waiting was always the hardest part. Benek had to remind himself to loosen his clutch on his sword; his fingers were almost white from the pressure. He kept swallowing as the world seemed to get smaller and smaller until he was conscious only of the horse under him, the sweat sliding down his face and back, the smooth leather of his sword's hilt. He had eyes only for the tall figure on the black stallion.

The whoosh and sudden darkening of the sky startled Benek as their own archers unleashed a stormcloud of death. He looked forward and saw many in the advancing line stumble and fall, the line now so close he could make out individual faces with their swarthy features and long black hair flowing down from under their helmets.

"To me!" The call rang out as Quen stood in his stirrups and raised his sword overhead. "For Jyn!"

As one, the army rumbled an answering cry and swept forward. They built up momentum going downhill, a thundering avalanche of steel and flesh. Benek urged his mount forward, keeping his focus on his lord. The crash of the two warring lines rattled his very bones and he had to work to keep his seat as he began fending off spears and swords.

After the initial smash, the battle devolved into individual and small-unit skirmishes. Both sides were determined and had much to fight for; the heaving of the field was like eddies and whorls of rapacious waves pounding into cliffs as the combat surged back and forth. When the heavy cavalry on the Jyn left flank blasted into the enemy lines, they began pressing the Rakkons back step by hard-fought step and the main fighting was shifted into the center of the valley. As mid-morning approached, the tiring men of Jyn were suddenly energized by new calls.

"Mandoro! Mandoro!"

The fresh troops unleashed a hail of arrows before breaking from their forest hiding places in a sudden rush and ripping into the side of the Rakkons' formations. Shrieks of pain and cries of anger rose above the enemy ranks as they fell back in disarray; Mandoro ferociously pushed his advantage and led his men forward, punching through like a rapier.

Benek cheered with the others until he realized with a heart-stopping spasm of dismay that the Rakkons had been pushed back into a mass at the point where Quen and his bodyguard had pressed forward into a gap. Rakkons on foot and horseback were savagely hacking toward their prize and the valiant defenders were being decimated by their blood-spewing fury.

"No!" shouted Benek. Frantically he looked around and yelled at the nearest of his own people. "To the king! To the king!" Slashing and lunging, Benek led his small group with wild abandon toward Quen and the screaming, kicking black stallion.

Fighting like a demon possessed, heedless of his own safety, Benek shattered the clumps of enemy soldiers in his path, shearing a lane of gore and rent flesh. His only focus was on Quen's safety, and it was not until the king was sucked into the relative shelter of a flying wedge of Jyn heavy cavalry that Benek turned his attention to joining them.

A sickening lurch threw Benek to the ground as his horse stumbled over the steep edge of a muddy stream and was cut down under him. He staggered to his feet, his arm leaden as he tried to wield his sword in the small oasis of quiet where the battle had moved away from them for a moment. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw a Rakkon snatch his harp from its case on his saddle and hold it up triumphantly, his swarthy features alight as he pointed at Benek and leered.

"Hey, it be that fucking harper! Take him, take him!"

Rage lit a fresh fire in Benek's soul. His mother's harp would not be despoiled by these bastards if he had to die trying to save it. He found new energy to swing his sword, its blade cutting a lane between the two Rakkons who stood between him and the prancing enemy. When his sword was knocked from his hand, he pulled his knife from his belt. With one mighty leap he surged up, caught the filthy hand holding the harp and ripped through the strings. The harp's final agonized chord was the last thing he remembered as his world went black.

**** **** **** ****

Benek floated in a gray haze. It seemed that every part of him hurt and he wanted to drift back into peaceful unconsciousness. That fate was not allowed to him as his vision slowly cleared and he began to take note of his surroundings. He was lying in the dirt just outside a tent in a forested area, his hands tied in front of him and his feet tied together. Rough voices came from various directions, curt, urgent. Moans of pain came from somewhere beyond the tent, a faint chorus of agony. A horse screamed but was suddenly cut off.

Late afternoon sun slanted in between trees to fall on a rough table where five men sat on tree-stump stools. Soldiers came and went, gave their reports and were dismissed. Benek watched muzzily as his hearing also gradually overcame the ringing in his ears. He noticed the heavy chain and jeweled amulet around the neck of the man at the head of the table.

"Hmmm, that must be Jukovkn… looks smaller than I pictured him," thought Benek to himself. "Must be strong as an ox to wield that monster of a sword on the table." He squinted a little… were those jewels in that long braid? "I guess so."

"Alright, enough for now. Get the men and horses fed, relieve the guards." Jukovkn stood, the others hastily rising also. "I want every man who can fight ready to go at first light."

His subordinates bobbed their heads briefly and then strode away.

Jukovkn stretched and took a couple of deep breaths, his leather breeches and jerkin creaking a little. He swung his head and looked at Benek. He pointed at his prisoner and ordered guards to bring him over.

Benek grunted as he was dropped on top of the table. His head throbbed and the heavy funk from the Rakkons wasn't helping his stomach.

Jukovkn stared down at his prize. "So this be the king's little singing whelp, eh?"

"Surely 'tis, my lord. This was with him." A one-eyed soldier with a bloody rag around his upper arm dumped Benek's sword and broken harp on the table near him.

"Not so funny now, are you, boy?"

Benek tried to spit in Jukovkn's direction and got a rough backhand for his effort.

"Get him up and strip him. Let's be seeing what we've got ourselves." Jukovkn had a nasty little smile on his face.

One soldier cut the rope around Benek's feet and tugged his boots off. Two others pulled him off the table and held him upright; within a minute they had cut off all of his clothes.

Benek stared defiantly at his captor, refusing to show his fear as Jukovkn slowly circled around him.

"Well, well, very pretty he be." Jukovkn grabbed Benek's chin, forcing his head up so he could lick his cheek and ear. "Tasty, too."

Benek couldn't repress a shudder as Jukovkn caressed his chest and flanks and had to stop himself from lashing out when callused hands moved lower. He swallowed hard and his breathing was ragged.

"Nice and smooth." Jukovkn lifted Benek's cock and squeezed his balls, smiling at Benek's disgust and flush. He moved around behind the harper, standing close enough for his hot breath to hit Benek's neck, chuckling as Benek flinched when he fondled his rear. "Sure and a sweet arse there." He laughed aloud, as did the guards, when Benek jumped as a rough finger probed his body. "Nice and tight. No wonder Quen kept him around." Juvovkn pumped a few more times before withdrawing his finger and wiping it on Benek's hip. "He be a sweet thing for sure." Juvovkn moved back in front and leered at Benek. "You'll be singing for your supper right enough, especially after we be putting that fucking Jyn bastard's head on a pole." He gestured to the guards. "Put him away for now till we be done with our work. We'll save this little treat for when there be time to enjoy it proper."

Benek's face blazed with humiliation as the guards dragged him away, patting him like a pet dog and making bets on whether Jukovkn would keep him around or pass him off to others after he'd finished breaking him in. A warrior came running by and almost knocked them over in his haste; Benek's guards cursed at him.

The soldier gave a quick report to Jukovkn, who immediately shouted, "Wait! Bring the little bastard here."

The guards brought Benek back and forced him to his knees. Benek tried to still his racing heart, afraid of what this new development portended.

Jukovkn slipped on a chain mail shirt and buckled on his sword belt as his bright red sorrel stallion was brought to him. A small guard of five mounted warriors galloped up and pulled their horses to a jarring stop. Jukovkn was curt and abrupt as he bellowed orders to double the perimeter guards. He swung up onto his horse and jerked his head at Benek's guards.

When Benek was standing beside the horse, Jukovkn leaned over. "Your precious 'king'," he spat out the word, "thinks to be asking for a parley so we can discuss surrender. I'll show him fucking parley." He grabbed one of Benek's arms as a soldier pushed upward, dragging the bard up to lie face down across his saddle in front of him. After his prize was in place, Jukovkn spurred his horse and the small group cantered away.

Benek clung to one stirrup with his bound hands to try to keep from bouncing and sliding too painfully during the short trip. He gasped for air in the head down position; the hard saddle dug into his ribs and belly, making it even more difficult to breathe. He sucked in several breaths when they stopped and kept his head low so he wouldn't have to see Quen's face. He could feel his face burning from both embarrassment and the lack of oxygen.

"I have requested this meeting to give you an opportunity to surrender before there is more needless bloodshed." Quen's voice came from somewhere above and a little to Benek's left. "We are caring for your wounded. They will be returned to you and you will have safe passage across the border."

"The only surrender we need to be talking about is yours. I take and I don't give back. I'll be seeing you and your miserable kind in hell." Jukovkn sneered as he stroked his captive's ass.

There was a brief silence and Benek felt like all eyes were on him.

"You are only making it worse for yourselves with this behavior. This is my land and my people." There was quiet determination in Quen's measured tones. "I will see YOU in hell if that is what it takes."

Jukovkn laughed. He pulled out his belt knife, pointed it at Quen. "THIS is mine now," and plunged the handle into Benek's ass.

Benek cried out at the rough intrusion, then bit his tongue to avoid giving Jukovkn the satisfaction of hearing his pain. He closed his eyes so as not to accidentally see any pitying glances.

"That was a mistake." The anger in Quen's voicer was hard as his sword. "There will be no mercy granted when next we meet."

"I'll be wiping your guts off my sword. You and the fucking idiots that will be following you into the flames." Jukovkn yanked his horse's head around and galloped back to his camp, with Benek panting in front of him.

When they got back, Jukovkn pulled out his knife and dumped Benek on the ground. "Put him away. I'll be dealing with him after we finish tomorrow."

**** **** **** ****

As it grew dark, Benek contemplated his situation, his spirits low with misery. He had been dragged into a supply tent and left alone. His hands were tied above his head to a small tree trunk and he had been stretched out with his feet secured to a heavy stake. He was still naked and the ground was rough underneath him. He had a little bit of wiggle room but could not find a comfortable position, and his various bruises and nicks were making themselves felt. The worst injury seemed to be to his head, since he still had a headache. He breathed a quiet prayer of thanks that the handle of Jukovkn's knife had apparently been worn smooth from years of use; his ass was sore but there didn't seem to be any tearing or bleeding.

The encampment grew quiet as time passed. There was the occasional tromping of footsteps, but Benek didn't hear any noises that might indicate there were sleeping tents or active cooking fires close to him. Once he heard the neighing of horses, but it was a faint disturbance. As the evening grew still, a few small rodents ventured into the tent but seemed more intent on checking out the supply bags than him.

Benek's thoughts were not happy ones. He didn't know how the battle had gone after he was knocked out, so he couldn't tell if Quen's offer to accept the Rakkons' surrender was a bluff or made from a position of strength. The Rakkons were obviously still here and it was clear they intended to fight again. He shuddered at his prospects if Jukovkn did somehow emerge victorious, but if they were losing and forced to flee, he wouldn't put it past the Rakkon leader to either take Benek with him or kill him out of spite. The Rakkons had been known to put entire villages to the flame after they had raped and plundered to their hearts' content.

On the other hand, if the forces of Jyn triumphed, could he live with going back to the king's court? He had already been paraded as a prisoner and that was humiliating enough. He knew that Quen would certainly take him back, though, and probably would not even inquire whether or not he had already been violated by the Rakkons, thinking to spare him the anguish. But even if he spoke up and denied it, there would be those who doubted and Benek did not want to endure their pity. Worst of all, the king had turned away his admission of love. Quen was a generous, honorable man and he would not force Benek out of the court over the things Benek had said, but would he want to stay? It had been bad enough to live in unrequited silence, but now that Quen knew of his feelings, how could he possibly face the man every day?

Time hung heavy and slow on the prisoner, but he felt that it must be nearing midnight. He had been given a cup of water before being tied down, but that was all he'd had since morning. Thirst became a torment as he tried not to think about it. As the night wore on, his physical and emotional pain became too much; despite the possibility of punishment, Benek turned to the one thing that had always been a solace for him.

Settling into a melancholy, minor key, Benek began to sing, keeping his voice soft and low. He sang of love, of lovers torn apart or never joined, of young men marching off to war and death. He lost track of time as he crooned until his parched throat and cracked lips could no longer make words come out, then hummed some more until he dozed off.

Rustling under the edge of the heavy tent material brought Benek back to wakefulness. It was pitch black in the musty space, but he had the impression of something large moving about. When a hand clamped down on his mouth, he squirmed as hard as he could within his bonds, certain that one of the Rakkons had decided to enjoy some pleasure at his expense, despite Jukovkn's injunction.

"Shut up and stop moving, dammit." The strident whisper sounded familiar.

Benek was shocked into stillness as hope flamed in his heart. The hand was cautiously removed. "Karas? Is that really you?"

"Yeah. Been skulking all over this fucking camp looking for you. They're spread out pretty good, so if I hadn't heard you singing I don't think I would have found you."

A match scratched in the darkness and a tiny candle in a metal cup came to life. Karas moved its few inches of light up and down to inspect his friend.

"Damn, that's a hell of a set of bruises you've got growing. Father will not be pleased about that," muttered Karas as he pulled a knife from his belt sheath and began sawing at the ropes. "You'd better write one hell of a song about me when we get back. I almost fell into a trench the fuckers are using for a toilet."

Benek started trying to rub some life into his freed hands as Karas worked on the rope around his feet. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but how did you get in, why are you here and how are we supposed to get out?"

"The how is easy. I am a skulker extraordinaire." Even in a low whisper, Karas's cockiness was evident. He knelt beside Benek as the harper sat up. He removed a dark cloak that had been wrapped around his waist. "Here, put this on." Karas sat on his haunches. "As for the why, that's easy, too. The king wants his bard back." He grinned. "Getting out of here, um, that's a harder question. We wait until the king springs his little surprise on these bastards, then we sneak out while avoiding being skewered by either side."

Benek stared at Karas, silent as he tried to take in all the sudden information. The king wanted his bard back? Enough that he was willing to risk one of his own sons? He wasn't sure how to interpret that and did not dare to hope that it meant what he desperately wanted it to mean. It must be a policy thing, or a way to help rally the troops, he told himself.

"Here, if we're going to skulk back out, we've got to do something about that pale skin of yours." Karas held out a small clay pot of fat laden with black soot. He scooped up a fingerful and began rubbing it on Benek's face so it resembled his own darkened visage. Benek took some more and started covering his hands and wrists.

"Better get your feet and ankles, too. Sorry I couldn't bring some boots, but they're bulky and I needed to run light."

"That's okay. I'm just incredibly happy you're here at all." Benek smeared more of the black gunk on his feet. "What did you mean about the king's surprise?"

"Just a little thing we cooked up to do for these damned Rakkons once and for all." There was a definite smirk on Karas's face. "I helped put it together. As we speak, Mandoro is doing his own skulking with a troop of my boys and girls; they're working their way around to the back side of the Rakkon camp – about an hour before dawn they're going to light up the night with flaming arrows. The king is taking a bunch of our people through the woods on the edge of the plain, while the cavalry is setting up for a charge across the valley to draw the Rakkons' attention away from the king's men."

"But that sort of thing takes hours! And a long charge across the open valley could turn into a massacre for the horses!" Benek had to force himself to keep his voice down. "Everyone has to be exhausted after that battle yesterday. How can you even ask our troops to try something like that?"

Karas looked at Benek for a long moment. "The king wants his bard back. He asked for volunteers." He shook his head in wonder. "I'll be damned if everyone who could still walk and hold a sword or bow didn't step up to give the king what he wants. Hell of a thing to see." He grunted in admiration. "So we decided to go ahead and take out the Rakkons while we were at it." Karas grinned. "Simple decision, really."

Benek shook his own head in a different sort of disbelieving wonder. "You're crazy, all of you."

"If this works, the war is pretty much over. And you get your ass rescued as a bonus. Just be happy about it, alright?"

Benek sighed. "I suppose there's nothing I can do about it now."

"That's right." Karas blew out the tiny candle. "Now, I have a nice hidey hole where we can wait, so let's go."

**** **** **** ****

They squirmed out under the back edge of the tent. Keeping low to the ground, Karas led them to a thick stand of bushes they were able to slither into the center of and remain unseen. There was a small opening near the top that allowed them to see the sky, but the sides were dense and spiky.

"Just keep real quiet for a while," whispered Karas into Benek's ear. "I was lucky when I came in, but there's LOTS of fucking guards and shit out there, so we shouldn't risk trying to sneak out."

Benek nodded and they settled into a silent vigil.

Yet another wait in the dark, thought Benek as he shifted. His prospects had improved significantly, but he couldn't help reflecting on how many things could still go wrong. He was still thirsty and his headache was back in full force, but no complaint passed his lips. He still thought the supposed rescue plan was wildly foolish.

The Rakkon camp began waking up while it was still dark and the increased foot traffic put both men on edge. Benek remembered the snatches of conversations he had heard earlier when he first regained consciousness after being captured, and whispered almost soundlessly to Karas that Jukovkn was planning a dawn attack. Karas could only shrug since there was nothing they could do but hope the king's men were able to move even faster.

Angry shouts sounded from where Benek thought his temporary prison had been. Feet pounded past. Karas put a finger to Benek's lips; Benek dipped his head in acquiescence.

"Forget the little whoreson bastard. He'll pay later."

Benek almost jumped at the familiar voice, and he had to fight to keep still.

Hoofbeats, curses and clanking metal almost on top of their clump of bushes had both Karas and Benek holding their breaths. Benek wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the tension when the sky above them was lit by streaks of fire.

"Wait!" Karas grabbed Benek's arm. "We need to see how things develop."

Benek's nerves were taut and his impulse was to run, but he held his peace. His stomach was churning as he clutched his cloak tight.

All around them there was shouting and men running as more arrows of flame flew across and into the camp. The Rakkons were well disciplined, though, and it took only a few minutes for them to organize and move troops to find the threat. They knew the Rakkons were too experienced to leave other parts of their perimeter vulnerable; prudence dictated that they must wait for a while longer.

Prudence went careening out the window when several of the fire arrows set alight summer's-end dry leaf cover and trees.

"Shit!" Karas began crawling out as fast as he could, Benek on his heels, when they heard crackling and whoosh of flames as a tree next to them went up. "Move, move!"

They emerged from their bushy cave. Benek blinked his eyes, trying to get oriented.

"This way!" Karas increased his pace to a trot, weaving between trees.

Benek followed, staying close, holding back his own curses as his bare feet encountered sharp rocks and twigs.

"Stop," hissed Karas. They peered around a large bole. Several Rakkons were lying on the ground, still under blankets as if sleeping, although a few of them wheezed and breath rattled in their throats. An older man was stirring a pot.

"Wounded soldiers," mouthed Karas. "Stay here."

Before Benek could reply, Karas had slipped to hands and knees and stealthily approached the group. He reached the closest and lifted the blanket, then pulled out a sword and knife. He set them aside and moved to the next sleeper but his luck here was not so good. As he slipped out another sword, the fire-tender turned around and yelled. Karas grabbed both swords and the knife and sprinted back past Benek. He thrust a sword at Benek and said, "Run!"

Benek did his best to follow but was hampered by his bare feet and flapping cloak. They zigged, zagged and darted in and out, killing two Rakkons who tried to stop them. By now, Benek had no idea what direction to take to escape from the camp to freedom or how much time had passed.

A huge shout went up and they had to jump out of the way to keep from getting run over by a troop of Rakkon cavalry. They threw themselves down on the ground behind a tent and lay panting.

Rumbling in the ground beneath them was followed by the unmistakable crash of cavalry upon cavalry. Karas grinned as streaks of white on his face showed where sweat had run down through his camouflage. "Sounds like at least part of the plan is working."

"Where the hell are we?" gasped Benek, sucking in air.

Karas thought a moment, then pointed. "The cavalry was supposed to come up the valley, so the river must be that way. The king's force should be moving in somewhere behind us."

"So which way do we go? The Rakkons will know we aren't part of their army, but we'll be coming out of the camp so our own people won't have time to recognize us." Benek gripped the hilt of his bare sword in his right hand.

"I think we're closer to the river, so let's try to work our way there."

They stood and resumed their escape. This time, they were more cautious and tried to keep to cover as much as possible. They were recognized again, one time escaping through the trees and once having to stop to battle four Rakkonen warriors. Benek took a slash to his left arm in the encounter.

During the fight, Benek became separated from Karas. He knelt by a tree and called out, but couldn't see or hear his companion. What he could hear were sounds of combat both ahead and behind him. He looked around and decided the trees were thinner to his left, so after tearing a strip from his cloak and bandaging his arm, he headed that way.

Benek's instinct proved correct when, moments later, he caught sight of the open valley. Mounted warriors from both sides were struggling back and forth out on the plain; some who had been unhorsed were still fighting hand to hand. It looked like the Jyn horsemen had made significant inroads on the enemy, but Benek didn't want to take any unnecessary chances. He tried to make his way along the treeline, but the pain in his feet was increasing and his progress was slow. He was reduced to crawling as he reached the far side of the melee. He couldn't hear any more signs of battle behind him, so he wasn't sure what had happened to Quen and his infantry, but he didn't have time to worry about that now.

Benek was almost tempted to slink behind some bushes and wait for the outcome, but the fire spreading in the forest and even the barest possibility that the Rakkons might win and scoop him up again set his feet moving despite the pain. Luck was not with him as he ventured out, however. A Rakkon intercepted him a scant fifty feet beyond the trees and he had to waste precious time fighting his way free. After he killed the soldier, Benek bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

The next sight pushed his heart into his mouth. A few hundred feet away a fresh troop of Rakkon cavalry burst from the trees. Jukovkn was leading the way was on his red stallion, screaming encouragement. They plunged into the rear of the brawl.

Benek took advantage of the confusion to try to outflank the main fighting. He kept a wary eye out but was still caught off-guard when six mounted Rakkons came racing around the edge of the fray in his direction. He began running toward the river, leaving bloody footprints in his path. He was cut off by the horses. Benek turned and raised his sword defiantly.

"Well, what be here?" Jukovkn smiled as he lowered his blade. "Looks like funny harper boy be playing at soldier man."

Taking a hopeful guess on the progress of the fighting, Benek kept his weapon up even though it meant the cloak flopped back and revealed his nakedness. "You're losing the battle. If you surrender now, King Quen will let you leave over the border with your people."

"Still trying to be funny, little harper boy?" Jukovkn snarled, eyes enflamed with battle fever. "I'll take every one of you spineless bastards to hell with me before I'll surrender. I've still got enough good warriors to be taking care of you miserable lot."

The sight of Rakkon foot soldiers rushing from among the trees lent credence to Jukovkn's words. Benek's gut turned to lead and his shoulders sagged.

"Aye, pretty little harper boy, it's my victory you'll be singing about," jeered Jukovkn. The next moment, however, he started in surprise as an arrow pierced one of his guards and the soldier fell to the ground. A horn sounded from across the valley as he wrenched his head around to see.

The horn blared again as a burning tree crashed to the ground behind what Benek now realized were fleeing Rakkon soldiers coming out of the woods, not troops full of fight. He looked in the direction of the horn and his spirit soared as he saw the silver lion of Jyn on a blue flag held high. Troops in loose formations followed that flag. The horn sounded in triumph yet again as they advanced at a near trot.

"Fuck!" Jukovkn swiveled his head and pointed at two of his group. "Go round up those sniveling cowards and get them back into the fight." They swung their horses around and galloped toward the fleeing Rakkons. "Fucking worthless they be." He let loose a long string of curses as the vanguard of the Jyn force, a group of a dozen horsemen, rode hard in his direction, spreading out to try to cut off flight in any direction except the river. His horse reared when he jerked on the reins.

Recognizing the black stallion leading the charge, Benek raised his sword again. He smiled as he shifted to a two-handed grip and bent his knees. "Surrender!" he called out. "Surrender and you can live."

"Never, you fucking piece of bad luck." Jukovkn got his horse under control and urged it toward Benek. "I'll take you to hell with me."

Another arrow whipped through the air as a wiry figure came loping from the woods, a Rakkon bow in his hands. Two more followed in short order, one taking down another of Jukovkn's horsemen and the other making Jukovkn himself dodge.

"Run, Benek, you idiot!" called Karas as he fitted another arrow to the plundered bow.

Benek tried to turn but his way was blocked by the Rakkon leader's remaining companion. He lunged and slashed until the horse shied, giving Benek a small space to dart off. He made less than two dozen feet before he had to duck Jukovkn's long blade. Benek went down and rolled, his cloak ripping away.

Jukovkn circled around as Benek climbed back onto his feet. Benek still had the purloined sword and held it before him. Jukovkn swung again as Benek ducked, avoiding the hooves of the Rakkon horse by a narrow margin.

The scream of a black war horse interrupted the dueling pair. Jukovkn glared at the disruptor.

"I told you that was a mistake," said Quen, king of Jyn, as he quieted his snorting steed. He held his sword at the ready, blue eyes a grim promise. "I will give you one last chance to surrender and leave my land forever."

Benek stood between the two enemies as they scowled at each other. A preternatural stillness had fallen, reminders of the rest of the battle only distant wordless echoes on the breeze. He was only vaguely aware of his nakedness; pumping of blood, salt-stung eyes and pain-swollen feet were all pushed to the back of his consciousness. The world seemed frozen in this moment.

Jukovkn bared his teeth in a ghastly smile. "Go to hell." He spurred his horse and it sprang from powerful back legs, not toward Quen but Benek.

"Drop!" yelled Quen as the black stallion made a desperate leap.

Benek fell to the ground, barely in time as hooves grazed his head and opened a bloody gash. He heard the ringing of steel somewhere above him. When he pulled himself to one knee he had to wipe blood from his eyes before he could see.

Round and round went the two stallions, their riders savagely swinging, blocking, feinting, thrusting. They moved too quickly for anyone to help or interfere.

Benek climbed to shaky feet, fear and hope warring as he leaned on his sword. He couldn't bear to turn away and had no strength to move. Every breath was a struggle to pull in as the grim fight raged back and forth. He ceased breathing altogether as Jukovkn rose in his stirrups and drove his blade through Quen's defense.

Time and Benek's heart stopped as the edge of the monster sword fell toward Quen's shoulder. At the last possible moment, Quen swept the threat aside and twisted his blade around to plunge into the Rakkon's chest.

Jukovkn's expression was pure astonishment, his eyes wide and mouth open, staring down at the scarlet stream that gushed forth from his heart after Quen pulled his sword back. He glanced down at Benek for a bare moment before toppling to the ground.

Benek fell to his knees, head in hands, gasping and sucking for breath. He couldn't quite dare to believe that his ordeal, and the war, were truly over. Or was it? What of the words he had said to Quen up on the hill before the battle?

Black hooves stamped impatiently in front of him, but Benek was afraid to look up at the rider.

"Can you stand?" The voice from above was hoarse but gentle.

Benek swallowed, took a deep breath and pulled himself upright with his sword. "Aye, my liege," he said, still not looking up.

"I did warn him," drawled Quen. "Nobody takes my bard." He tsk'd. "You do seem to be a bit worse for wear, though."

Benek raised his head to see the blue cloak being offered to him. His mouth was too dry to lick his lips as he took the cloak and draped it around him. His heart hammered as badly as it did in the heat of battle as he looked further up into the blue eyes darker than the fabric that now surrounded him.

"Am I just your bard?" he whispered. "Or am I yours in all things?"

Quen smiled, a long, slow lighting of his entire face. He extended his hand and pulled Benek up onto the saddle in front of him. "Mine. All mine," he murmured into Benek's ear. He turned Benek's head and captured his lips in a deep kiss as the soldiers of Jyn cheered their victory.

**** **** ***** **** **** **** *****

Benek shifted fretfully on his bed as the doctor examined him. The sun slanted in through the open window into his small room.

"The head wound and your arm are coming along nicely and should finish healing with minimal scarring, and you don't seem to have taken much damage from being knocked in the head. Your feet will take a while longer to return to normal, though. You need to stay off them as much as possible and make sure you continue to apply the salve every morning and evening. No boots, only soft slippers. No running, no riding, no long walks. Is that clear?"

"Yes, I suppose so. How long until I can get back to doing normal things?" Benek's tone was querulous even to his own ears.

"Depends on how well you follow instructions." The silver-haired doctor reached into his leather bag, pulled out two large clay containers, put them on the small wooden nightstand next to the bed and removed both of the nearly empty pots. "Remember, twice a day as a minimum. More often if the itching gets too bad." He left before Benek could ask any more questions.

Benek swung his legs out and sat up. At least he could sense the cold stone this morning, even if the bottom of his feet did feel stiff and itchy. He thought about getting up and walking around, but decided that probably was not a good idea. Instead, he scooted over to reach the tray that had been left on a chair and began picking at his breakfast.

After only a few bites, Benek pushed the tray and chair away. He sighed as he put his feet up and plopped back against his pillows.

The last two weeks had been interminable. Little time could be spared to celebrate the final victory over the Rakkons before the work of clearing and cleaning began. The most able men were assigned to round up the Rakkons and oversee their departure from the kingdom, others to burying the dead and taking care of their own people. Benek was put with the other wounded for treatment. When he protested against being loaded into one of the carts that were being sent home, the king himself stopped by for a brief kiss and a stern admonishment to stop complaining and work on getting better. The days after that were hazy - he was given a sleeping draught each day to ease the pain of the bumpy ride and his damaged feet. When they arrived in the capitol, Benek was carried up to the small room he had occupied for the last three years, a floor below the royal quarters. Since then, his only contacts had been with the doctor, the attendant who came twice a day and a few visits from Quiso or Lomeera, the king's youngest son and his daughter who had received the responsibility of administering the kingdom when Quen went to war to drive out the Rakkons.

Benek sighed again as he stared up at the ceiling. He knew he should be grateful that he had survived the war relatively unscathed when so many others had died, that he had a place in the royal court, that he was getting good care for his wounds. No matter how many times he kept telling himself these things, his thoughts and dreams kept spiraling back to those last two days around the final battle: admitting his feelings to Quen, seeing Quen in danger during the battle, the last horrific chord of his harp as he was captured, his abuse by the Rakkon leader, his rescue, and, above all else, the question of what the king of Jyn really felt for him. He could see and feel in his head that giddy moment when Quen kissed him, but that was then, fresh from the blood fever of the fight, and the short buss in the cart had felt almost paternal. What did the king feel now as time continued to pass and he had so many other things to occupy his attention?

Although his health improved a little more each day, Benek still found it difficult to concentrate. Even his music could not give him much relief as his feelings and anxiety revolved around his memories and his unanswered question. He missed his harp; his other instruments sat untouched; blank paper at his writing desk went unfilled by music or stories and even his voice seemed unwilling to cooperate in songs old or new.

A knock on the door got Benek's attention and he forced himself to sit up. "Come in."

"Good morning." Lomeera came in, a big smile on her face. She took more after her mother than her father with hazel eyes, round face and dark blonde hair, but she had Quen's height, as did all of his children. "How are you doing today?"

"Better. My arm and head don't hurt much at all, but the doctor says my feet will take more time to heal."

"Good. I have surprises for you." Lomeera hefted a long sack onto the bed and sat down next to Benek. "First, new shoes." She pulled a pair of soft leather slippers from the bag. "Mikar sends his compliments and says he cut them a little big so you can wear two pairs of socks. See how soft they are! Lots of padding for your poor feet."

Benek made appropriate noises of appreciation as he tried them on. "They are very nice. Please thank Mikar for me."

"I will. You have gifts from up the river, too. Mandoro's people found these and he sent them back with a messenger who came down by boat. He got in late last night, but I didn't want to bother you." Lomeera pushed the bag toward Benek. "Take a look."

Something inside clanked as Benek opened the neck of the bag. He reached inside and pulled out a sword – the belt was burned to a few inches and the blackened scabbard still smelled of smoke, but the blade was easy to recognize as Benek withdrew it. He drew a ragged breath as he ran two fingers along the nicked metal.

"We'll get you a new scabbard, and the hilt might need to be reworked, but the blade is still in good condition for the most part," said Lomeera.

"Aye, she'll be just fine." Benek swallowed, remembering the last time he had wielded his father's weapon, the desperate dash toward the king, the encounter with the Rakkons. He pursed his lips and shut away thoughts of what had followed.

"I think you'll like this even better." Lomeera had a big grin as she tapped the bag.

Benek felt his breath stop and his heart beat faster as he realized why she must be so happy. He upended the bag – a sigh of wonder wisped through his lips. The loss of both sword and harp had been another thing weighing on his mind, and he felt the first surge of happiness since he had returned home. Carefully Benek picked up the damaged instrument and surveyed its hurts. A few bits of string still remained; soot blackened the wood; the small lion head at the top was missing an ear and part of its mane. Benek's hand tingled as he fingered three nicks and lingered on the bigger gash where his knife had dug into the wood when it had ripped through the strings.

"You can fix it, right?" Lomeera put a hand on Benek's arm.

"Oh, yes." Benek smiled as he hugged the maltreated harp. "May take a little while, but I should be able to do all the repairs." He held it out at arm's length and shook his head. "This is wonderful. I never thought I'd see either one of these again. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Lomeera's grin disappeared as she glanced at the breakfast tray. "You need to eat more, Benek. We all want you to get well."

"I'm sorry." Benek rested the harp on his lap, one hand still keeping a firm grip on it. "I guess I just haven't felt much like doing anything at all." He glanced at the harp. "This will help a lot, though. And I know I have much to be thankful for… I'll try to do better." Benek paused, tilting his head a little. "I don't suppose there have been any new dispatches from the army?"

"Not since yesterday." Lomeera raised an eyebrow. "There is still much to be done to recover. We're fortunate that the Rakkons were pushed out of the western half of the kingdom in time to do spring planting, but I'm sure Father is working hard to get men back to the farms to help with the harvests." Lomeera slipped over and put an arm around Benek as he bowed his head. "I know it's hard waiting, but he'll be home soon and you can thank him then."

"Aye." Benek knew that much of the kingdom seemed to have heard of what was being called the 'Battle of the Bard', but he was hesitant to discuss any potential relationship he might have with the king until he could find out for himself what that relationship might actually be. He let her assumption stand that he wished to express his appreciation to the king for his rescue. "Well, at least now I have something to keep me busy."

"That's the spirit." Lomeera stood up. "Let me know if you need anything. It would be wonderful if you could repair the harp in time for Father's return. I'm sure he looks forward to hearing it again."

"I'll do my best."

**** **** **** ****

Benek decided to act on Lomeera's suggestions. He had a focus now that his harp was back and even felt some of his appetite returning. In his room there were plenty of supplies and tools to make and repair instruments, so he set to work. Benek also had to reserve time to begin taking short walks; he had to be careful of several very deep cuts, but between liberal applications of salve and his new slippers, he was able to start going a little further each day. He still didn't sleep very well due to his recurring dreams and anxiety but did his best to ignore those issues during the day.

After a thorough cleaning, the frame of the harp proved to be sound. Benek was delighted with that discovery and ate an extra helping at supper to celebrate. From that point, it was mostly a matter of many hours of painstaking detail work to repair the damage. Within a week, the harp was ready to restring.

Benek reached a couple more milestones by that time. He had tired of being treated as an invalid and was very happy when he could shuffle to the nearest communal toilet and, with careful steps plus a few stops along the way, reach the lower levels where the kitchen was. His feet complained loudly the first few times he went down for meals, but he applied extra salve and kept his feet propped up as he worked.

It was nice to see people and have hot meals, although he did find it embarrassing to be the target of streams of questions about the battles he had been in, especially that last one. He tried to keep his answers general and in praise of the king's and his sons' leadership. As more days went by, the questions began including when he would sing again.

"Of course they're interested in you." Lomeera perched on a chair in Benek's room. She sat next to his worktable and had stopped by to admire the repairs to his harp. "You are the king's songsmith, always faithfully at his side, and he roused his troops to go rescue you. That's exciting." She carefully placed the harp back on the table. "Has it not also occurred to you that 'Benek the bard' is popular in his own right? It's well known that the 'nice young man' as Mother used to say, is handsome, charming, sings like a bird and plays divinely. You are also considerate of the servants and soldiers; they appreciate that."

"But the king is the one who is important… well, and you and your brothers. I'm just an entertainer; I play and sing or tell stories as the king directs. That's not very significant for the welfare of the kingdom." Benek frowned as he tuned strings on the harp.

Lomeera laughed. "Benek, my dear Benek. You really can be oblivious. Just an entertainer? Sometimes, perhaps, but you make people happy, keep morale up, write songs to support the king's policies and popularity, and rumor has it you swing a pretty mean sword, too."

"I do whatever the king wants or needs me to do. That's all." Benek had his tongue out the side of his mouth as a high string was proving touchy in its tone.

Lomeera watched the bard and let silence linger for a few minutes as he worked. Finally, she sighed with a regretful look in her eyes to which Benek seemed insensible. "I'm sure the king appreciates everything you do for him," she said.

Benek stopped, turning in his chair. "The king cares well for all of his servants." He wasn't quite sure if her words were innocent or meant something more.

"Of course." Lomeera stood up. "I almost forgot to tell you. A new dispatch from Karas arrived a few hours ago. He says that he and Father should be coming home within the next few days."

"That's wonderful news." Benek felt his heart leap and couldn't keep a huge smile off his lips. "Do you need help with anything?"

"Not really; between Quiso and me we can manage. In any event, I have no doubt that everyone will want to simply rest for a while before we have any celebrations." Lomeera laid a hand briefly on Benek's shoulder. "If you haven't already begun, you probably should be writing some new songs. I'm sure Karas will want one that extols his bravery and skill in the face of fantastical dangers."

"Oh, yes. I should be getting started on that." Benek shrugged, his smile noticeably dimmer. "At the very least, I do owe Karas a song about his abilities as a 'skulker extraordinaire'." He wasn't very excited about reliving that particular set of adventures.

"I shall look forward to hearing all of your songs."

Lomeera left the room, leaving Benek to ponder the upcoming return of the King of Jyn.

**** **** **** ****

It turned out to be three days before the king and escort appeared in the distance. The air of eager anticipation was palpable in the late afternoon air.

The atmosphere in the room of the king's bard was decidedly more mixed. Mindful of his duties, Benek had tried to compose several new songs and had actually finished a few somewhat generic ones about the long series of battles in the war, the valor of the Jyn troops and the bravery of their leaders. He still could not face reliving the final two days of the war and kept telling himself he would 'get around to it'. He was excited about Quen's impending return. His stomach fluttered every time he thought about meeting him again. On the other hand, there had been no letters, notes or mention of him in any of the communications from the king, so he still had no idea how the king really felt about him. In the end, he chided himself for thinking of his own desires when there were surely many far more pressing and important issues on the king's mind.

Benek did go down to the central courtyard of the castle when he heard the horn of welcome blowing. Telling himself he needed to be mindful of his still tender feet, he stayed on the fringe of the welcoming crowd as the entourage entered the gates. The king graciously waved as the throngs of people cheered; Karas followed close behind, a cocky grin on his face as he exuberantly acknowledged the applause and shouts directed at him. Benek drank in the sight but could not tell if Quen looked for or saw him.

After the royal family was reunited and heading back inside, word began circulating through the crowd that there would be a small festive gathering in two nights in the Great Hall and a general feast for all the day after, but until then, the king would be busy meeting with his councilors. Benek swallowed his disappointment and returned to his room, knowing that those sorts of meetings were not ones he ever attended.

Several hours later, Benek was still in his room. The window was closed against the increasing fall chill and a single candle flickered. His growing nervousness made his stomach too jumpy to eat and he had to stop pacing when his feet complained. For an hour, he had been playing his harp, practicing the new songs he thought he would be called upon to perform, in order to keep his mind away from other thoughts.

A fist pounded on his door and then it burst open. Benek stood to face his intruder, putting his harp on the table behind him.

"There you are!" Karas bounded forward and enveloped the bard in a big hug.

Benek returned the embrace, untangling himself finally when Karas pounded on his back. "It's good to see you, too."

"Good? It's fucking fantastic to be home!" Karas waved his arms. "And even more fantastic to be rid of all those fucking councilors for the night!" He rolled his eyes. "Everybody wanted to talk to the king or ask questions. I tell you, Benek, my father has the patience of two saints! I would have sent them all packing after the first couple of hours."

Benek was debating on how to ask after Quen when Karas swept past him and picked up the harp. "You got it? Excellent! The sword too?" After Benek nodded, Karas crowed and poked the bard in the chest. "You need to thank Mandoro next time you see him. He sent out teams for four days to scour that damned Rakkon pit, and two gold pieces of his own money he gave to the soldier that found your stuff."

"I didn't know that. I shall find a way to repay him." Benek retrieved his harp and placed it back on the table.

"Don't be an idiot. A lot of us saw what you did out there when the king was surrounded." Karas put an arm around Benek's neck and pulled him close. "You are a fucking hero and it was only because you went to save Father that you got captured. I made sure Mandoro knows that, so you don't owe him anything."

"I just got myself knocked on the head and tied up like a prize pig. You're the brave one. You knowingly went into that place all by yourself to rescue me."

"I shall accept suitable accolades and songs that praise my wonderfulness." Karas squeezed Benek again, then finally released the bard to pick up the sword propped against the wall. "This is a good sword and you honored your father with it." He frowned a bit as he examined the blade. "You need to get it sharpened and have a new scabbard made."

"I was hoping I wouldn't need to use it again." Benek sat on the chair and rubbed his neck where Karas had clutched it.

"Even if you don't, you shouldn't neglect the poor thing."

"Very well, my prince, I shall attend to it tomorrow."

Karas made a very rude noise with his lips and plopped down on the bed. "Prince is for the public, not when we're alone." He stared hard at Benek. "Why are you here in your room?"

"Practicing. And my feet still hurt if I walk too much." Benek turned away to pick up his harp and strike a chord.

"Benek, do you understand why I went into that god-forsaken place to find you?"

"To be honest, not completely." Benek stared resolutely at his table as he silently fingered more chords. "I know we've been friends for a long time, but I'm just the king's bard. You're far more important than I am."

"Bullshit! I saw my father's face when the son of a bitch stuck his knife handle up your ass – "

"You were there?" Benek turned around, the legs of his chair 'screeing' on the stone floor in protest at the sudden movement, bile rising in his throat as he tried to swallow.

"You didn't know?"

"No… I heard the king's voice, but I didn't look up." Benek closed his eyes. "I was too ashamed."

"It was not your fault." Karas's voice was sympathetic. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Benek shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that. But there is still an unanswered question before us."

"Why you rescued me?" Benek opened his eyes. He wasn't ready to ask his own question yet.

"Well, I suppose that's really the first question. As I was saying, I saw how Father looked then, and when we got back to our lines, he was burning like steel in a forge. He went among the soldiers, told them that you had been stolen from us, and he intended to get you back. When I saw him, the way he stood tall and proud and said that he was going but would appreciate some company on the trip…" Karas stopped, his eyes distant. "Saying it sounds sort of silly, I know, but if you had only seen him when man after man stepped forward and said there was no damned way the king was going alone. I swear he had tears in his eyes as he thanked them. After all that, there was no fucking way anyone could stop me from sneaking in to fetch your miserable ass, so you didn't get killed in the crossfire."

"He did that?" Benek's throat was tight as his thoughts whirled.

"Aye, and led the charge to intervene before Jukovkn could kill you, although I guess you know about that last part." Karas stood up and walked over to stand in front of Benek with his hands on his hips. "And I have another question – why are you hiding away here instead of going to the king?"

"What? I can't – "

"Yes, you damned well can. Father didn't say much on the trip home, but I saw how he kissed you that day, how he looked at you when he carried you back. Your ass got packed off with the wounded because it was necessary, not that I think he really wanted to. He stared after the wagons for a long time after they pulled out. If there is anything between you, if you do have feelings for him, then you need to seek him out and tell him."

"What happened on that field – I remember it too, it's burned in my soul. But I also remember the blood, the anger, the battle lust in his eyes." Benek clenched his fists as he pulled in a deep breath. "I've been here, waiting, without a word or a note or anything." He stood and faced Karas. "Yes, I do have feelings for the king, and I told him the night before the last battle, but he pushed me away then. I don't know how the king feels about me now. Maybe that rescue was just anger and hurt pride from what Jukovkn did." His breath was coming fast now. "I don't know and I don't want to push myself on the king like a puppy begging for a treat. That's not fair to him and…" Benek shook his head and looked down. "And I don't think I can stay here if he rejects me again."

"Gods, Benek." Karas hugged his friend. "I didn't know about that part." He held Benek at arm's length. "I was with him most of the way home and I think he does have feelings for you, I really do, and maybe he's had those feelings longer than most of us knew. But you have to remember that he IS the king and he puts his duties before himself. We were overwhelmed with work on the trip back and I'm sure he saw taking care of his people as his first priority. That doesn't mean you weren't in his thoughts."

"You think so?" whispered Benek.

Karas dropped his arms. "I believe you owe it to yourself to find out. Hell, you owe it to him! But I don't think his honor will let him chase you or even give the appearance of forcing himself on you. You need to go to him."

There was a long silence as Benek stood, mouth closed, pulling air in and out of his nose, hopeful but afraid.

"Benek, you look ridiculous standing there sounding like a bull lusting after a cow. Do I need to kick your ass out that fucking door?"

Benek had to smile a bit. "This is not easy. He's the king, dammit."

"He's also a man. A man who deserves some happiness in his life. If you're the one who can give him that, good. If it's not meant to be, then better both of you find out now and move on."

A thought suddenly occurred to Benek, something he hadn't considered in his earlier self-centered pondering. "It would be alright with you? And… other people?"

"Hell, yes. You're my friend and he's my father, so what? If you love each other, that's fine with me. And I don't know anybody who would begrudge the king a little happiness in his private life, especially with somebody like you who wouldn't abuse his position." Karas gave a wicked laugh. "Of course, my sister and a lot of other people will be very unhappy if you are no longer available."

Benek gave a bigger smile. "So I've heard."

"That's better." Karas put a hand on Benek's shoulder. "Father left to take a bath after we ate. I'm sure he's in his bedroom by now. Knowing him, he's likely still awake and working. This is your chance." He pushed Benek toward the door. "Go."

Benek didn't quite remember how he got to the top of the stairs that led up to the royal quarters, nor did he have any recollection of how his harp came to be in his hands. He stopped to suck in deep breaths, his feet tingling and his heart already pounding. When he could breathe without gulping air, Benek started slowly down the long stone hallway. Candles in wall holders flickered along the way. There were no guards, Quen had never felt them necessary, and it was quiet except for a few murmurs of conversation behind closed doors. After what seemed like an eternity, Benek passed the empty queen's quarters. Benek had been in them often during the queen's final illness, playing and singing to help soothe her pain, but he had never been in the king's quarters twenty feet further along.

The closer Benek got to the heavy wooden entrance, the more his stomach threatened to reject its contents. He wanted desperately to see Quen but was afraid of the possible answer he might get. There was a tiny tremble in his hand as he came up to the door.

"Good evening, sir. Can I help you?" Tered, one of the junior stewards, had stepped out of the small room on the inner hall where the night staff kept watch in case they were needed and also provided a measure of protection against uninvited visitors. The small, tousled head of a runner appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Uh, hello, Tered." Benek hadn't thought this far ahead, and his brain spun like a toy top trying to devise something intelligible to explain his presence. He vaguely waved his harp. "I was just, um, wondering if the king was still up."

"Oh, it's you, Benek. Sorry, he's been back for almost an hour but I don’t know if he has retired yet. Did he call for you?"

"Well, not exactly –"

The runner went to Benek and interrupted him. "Oooooh, is that the harp you took into battle when you rescued the king and everything? Can I touch it? Please, please, please?"

Benek started to explain that he didn't really rescue anybody as Tered tried to hush the boy and push him back into the room.

"I wanna touch it. Come on, at least lemme see it," whined the lad.

"It's alright, Tered." Benek held the harp out, a peace offering to keep the noise down in case Quen had already gone to sleep.

The boy, eyes wide, reached out a finger and ran it along the polished wooden frame with a feather-light touch. He plucked a single string before Tered took his shoulder and pulled him away.

"Is there a problem out here?" A tall figure in an open robe over loose trousers and tunic stood in the doorway.

The boy scurried away as Tered and Benek stumbled over each other's words.

Quen held up a hand - both men fell silent and bowed. "Ah, Benek. You must be a mind reader; I was just thinking that we needed to chat." He smiled graciously, a smile that widened a bit when he saw what Benek held. "And I see you have restored your harp. I'm glad you were able to get it back." He waved Benek inside. "It's alright, Tered. Please see that we're not disturbed."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Benek stopped a few feet inside. The king's private quarters were large, with rugs underfoot and two broad windows with cushioned bench seats. At one end was a fireplace with a welcoming fire, a couch, some chairs and near the left side a large writing desk. Neat stacks of papers covered half the desk's top and four large candles provided a warm yellow light. At the other end of the room was a long, wide bed; the canopy of the four-poster was still pulled back.

By the time Benek had taken in all the contents, Quen had advanced to the middle of the room. He turned and looked at his bard with a quizzical raised eyebrow.

"Welcome home, my liege. It is good to see you well." Benek clutched his harp and fervently hoped Quen couldn't hear his heart thumping.

"It is good to be home." Quen didn't move. "I hope you have recovered from your wounds?"

"Mostly, my liege. My feet are still a little tender, but the doctor assured me that I should make a full recovery. Everyone has been most kind during my convalescence." Benek lifted the harp a little. "I must thank Mandoro when he returns for his exertions in locating my harp and sword. A piece of my heart was restored to life when I got those back."

"Mandoro is a good man and I'm sure he felt the effort was well worth it. We all look forward to hearing you play again."

Both men fell into awkward silence. Benek worried at the inside of his cheek as he tried to work up the nerve to speak.

Quen went to the couch and sat at one end. "You didn’t write, Benek," he said mildly.

Benek gawked, his mouth partly open. He blinked and blurted out, "It wasn't my place to bother you, my liege. Everyone said you were horribly busy and your work is so important, and I'm just – " He stopped and swallowed.

"You're just what?"

Benek suddenly felt hollow inside and words deserted him. He shrugged as he held out his harp for a moment, then let his hands fall to his sides as he stared at the floor. He felt unworthy of this kind and generous man who had such huge responsibilities on his shoulders but had done so much for him, including saving his life, and wished he had never spoken of his feelings.

Footsteps approached him and Benek looked up as far as Quen's chest.

"You're just my bard?"

Benek nodded. "I'm sorry if I've bothered you or been a distraction. I should have held my peace."

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you sing, my bard? How you lift people's spirits? Inspire them? How your songs can change the way they feel and think?"

"I don't try to change people, my liege. But music is my gift and it makes me feel good when I can sing and play." Benek raised his eyes a little higher, where the V of the tunic revealed the base of Quen's neck. "Perhaps they sense my enjoyment."

"Always so modest. I believe you truly don't understand the power of your gift."

Benek shivered when fingers caressed his cheek, then nudged his chin higher.

"Your music has always given me great joy, my bard. Until you spoke up that night on the hill, I had not realized how much I had been taking for granted the joy YOU give me, Benek."

"My liege…" Benek felt as if his breath had been stolen. He looked up into blue eyes that bored into his.

"I could not answer the question you asked that night. My heart was heavy with weariness and thoughts of the blood that must be spilled in the battle to come. But later, when I saw you in the clutches of that bastard, I knew. There was a fire that burned in my heart for you. I did not want to lose you and I did some remarkably foolish and risky things."

"You did not have to come for me or allow your son to risk his life on my behalf, my liege. That was foolish, indeed." Benek licked dry lips even as he continued to stare upward. "You saved my life and I thought claimed me. But later, the longer I waited, the more I realized that it was unlike you to do those things, and I have been racked by doubts. That was why I thought to come to you tonight, to ask if… perhaps…"

"I understand. Tell me, Benek, do you still want me?"

"Aye. More than anything."

"And I want you."

Benek's face flushed as a wave of heat ran through him. He started to reach upward with his free hand, but the king intercepted it.

"I cannot allow myself anything less than full honesty, Benek. It would not be fair to you otherwise." Quen held Benek's hand to his chest as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "I do want you, but I have many duties and obligations. There will be times, perhaps far more than you might wish, when you might have at best only a small part of me. I have to tell you that your position will still be as my bard and only privately may we share our feelings. And although you are well-liked now, human nature is what it is, and there will be many who grow jealous of what they perceive as your favor in my eyes." Quen gave Benek's hand a little squeeze. "If that is not what you want, what you can live with, I will understand."

Benek's elation cooled a bit as he considered the king's words. "I appreciate your concerns, my liege." His shoulders went back and his jaw firmed. "To have part of you will be more than I have now. You have always been a man of honor, and I would think less of you if you became diminished because of me. My life, my music, all that I am or have is yours to do with as you will. I want only to make you happy because your pleasure will be my happiness."

"My Benek." Quen lifted the bard's hand to his lips and kissed it, a soft and tender caress. "You are so beautiful. It will give me great joy to give you what part of my heart and life that I can."

Benek felt his knees go weak and would have dropped his harp if the king had not caught it.

Quen gave a small laugh as he carefully put the harp down on the couch. He turned back to Benek with a wide smile, swept him up in his arms and carried him over to the bed.

Benek laughed in turn as he dropped onto the feather mattress, delight suffusing him. He watched in bemusement, still not believing his good fortune, as the king went back to his desk.

Quen threw a few more logs on the fire, then extinguished three of the candles and carried the final one over to set on a shelf next to the headboard. In the softly flickering light, Quen stepped around to the foot of the bed and removed Benek's slippers.

Benek flinched as Quen ran his fingers along the soles of his feet, then gasped as Quen leaned over to kiss them.

"I remember your bloody footprints, and carrying you to the cart to go home." Quen slipped out of his robe and threw it across a wooden chest. He climbed onto the bed and lay down beside Benek. "I didn't want to send you away," he caressed Benek's face, "but it was needful at the time."

"I understand that now, my liege."

Benek gasped again when Quen leaned over, put a hand behind his head and kissed him. He closed his eyes and let the heat sweep through him. He reached up to run a hand through Quen's hair, admiring its silkiness with the small part of his mind that still seemed to have the power to think.

"Ahhhh." Benek's eyes flew open when he felt fingers moving under his shirt, caressing his stomach. He trembled as Quen pressed close against his side, and the fingers drifted higher to tweak a nipple. He uttered a sound that came out like a squeak.

"Benek?" Quen stopped and whispered into the bard's ear, one hand flat on Benek's chest under the fabric. "Are you alright?"

Benek swallowed and tried to still his rapid breathing. "I…"

Quen brushed his lips across Benek's as he moved his hand down across Benek's belly, stopping with a fingertip just inside the top of his trousers.

The contact drew a small moan and shiver from Benek.

Shifting away and up on to one elbow, Quen pulled his hand back out. A half smile quirked one corner of his lips as he softly said, "You have truly touched no other, then."

"No, my liege." Benek breathed through his partly open mouth.

"Have you pleasured yourself?"

Benek licked his lips. "Aye, there were times when… I could not resist the need." He averted his gaze. "I'm sorry if my ignorance displeases you."

"Well, at least you are not totally unfamiliar with the desires of the flesh." Quen rolled off the bed and stood up. "And I'm not at all displeased. There are many ways two people can pleasure each other, Benek." He had a smile that lit up his whole face. "We shall start at the beginning tonight, but I look forward to teaching you more of those ways."

"As I shall no doubt enjoy being your pupil in these matters." Benek had recovered enough to move over onto his side, one hip cocked, and what he hoped was a demure smile on his lips. His heart rejoiced at the implicit promise of a lengthy relationship.

Quen laughed. "My blade might be a tad rusty from disuse, but I suspect you will keep it sharp and eager for battle." He moved around to the right side of the bed. "This will be easier if you undress now and get comfortable." When he reached the candle, he used it to light a short, wide candle in a metal bowl that sat on a small shelf high on the headboard, then started releasing the ties on the canopy.

Benek scrambled off the left side of the bed as Quen made his preparations. His shirt came off easily, the cool air hitting his hot flesh. He paused a moment as he began to take down his trousers and smalls. He was used to the casual male nudity of army camps and communal trench toilets, but this wasn't at all the same thing. Benek's hesitation was short, however, as eagerness pushed him forward. He put his clothes across another wooden chest, pulled back the covers and climbed back onto the bed as Quen finished letting down the end and side canopies.

The light was dim inside the small cave, Benek's world now confined to the space within the fabric walls and headboard where the small candle gave off a dim light as it's flame flickered. His breathing sounded loud to his ears as he heard small shufflings outside. He dithered a bit about how to position himself but in the end decided to stay on his side of the bed on his back.

Quen pulled back the drapery on the right side near the foot of the bed. Benek's eyes widened as his heart stuck in his gullet. He watched, barely breathing, as Quen's naked figure slipped inside and advanced toward him on hands and knees. Benek couldn't help glancing at the organ that hung down from his loins; even in its flaccid state, it was far larger than he had anticipated. His breath hitched at the sight and an unintelligible noise struggled to escape his throat as he stared.

"Easy, my handsome bard." Quen stroked Benek's face as he lay down on his side. "That comes later and we have much to explore before I enter you." Quen kissed Benek's forehead, his eyes, then brushed his lips. "Touch alone can be exquisite if done at a leisurely pace," he whispered in Benek's ear before dipping his tongue into that same ear.

"Oooohh," gasped Benek as the intruder licked along the edge of his lobe. He started to shift but Quen had already moved to capture his mouth, and Benek relaxed from the tenseness he had not even noticed. "Mmmmm," he hummed as Quen continued the long, slow kiss.

When Quen's tongue tickled his lips, Benek opened his mouth and welcomed the questing tongue. He marveled at the texture of the slick intruder and daringly returned the intimate caress as Quen ran fingertips along the side of his face. They explored each other's mouths until Quen held the back of his head and pushed down with a hard kiss before releasing him.

"Good?" Quen touched Benek's nose with a fingertip, his eyes bright.

"Oh, aye, my liege." Benek was breathing hard. "Very good."

"It gets better." Quen dove back in for another long, lingering kiss, but this time he also used his hands to stroke Benek's shoulders, arms and chest, alternating light touches with sweeping glides.

Benek's hunger grew with each little tidbit of sensation the king fed him. He could hear his blood thundering in his ears and already felt his organ firming. When Quen moved down and sucked his neck, he laid his head back and offered his throat, noticing the scratch of Quen's beard as it left red marks around the ring of blood the king brought to his skin. The shock when Quen took one of his nipples into his mouth made Benek jerk.

Quen held Benek down with one arm as he alternated between the two nipples, sucking, nipping, twirling his tongue around the nubs. His other hand roamed the bard's hot skin, skimming his flanks, tickling his stomach.

Benek moaned and squirmed, each touch of skin or tongue making him ever more sensitive. He tried to reciprocate as best he could, running his hands through Quen's hair, rubbing his shoulders, his upper arms. He thrashed in abandon when Quen squirmed upwards, grabbed the sides of his face with both hands and kissed him again, tongues sliding and wriggling against each other.

"Touch me!" demanded Quen as he pushed Benek's head down.

Benek eagerly complied. He shifted onto his side and tried his best to replicate the things Quen had done to him. He licked the hot skin, reveling in the salty taste as he made his way across Quen's chest to suckle on each nipple as his hands explored the lean body, tracing old scars, learning new contours. He felt light-headed, only sensations penetrating his awareness, and his skin tingled, thrilling at the moans he extracted from his king.

Benek nuzzled Quen's belly, but when he made to move lower, the king seized his wrists and flipped the bard onto his back. He leaned over Benek, faces inches apart, chests heaving.

"You are a quick study." Quen licked his lips as he stared down. "I fear this night's lesson will be short. We are both too eager, but I cannot wait."

"Please, my liege." Benek sucked in air, heart thumping like the hooves of Quen's warhorse. The pressure in his groin was growing ever more unrelenting and he fought to control it.

"Wait." Quen kept Benek's wrists imprisoned as he made a slow circuit around the edges of Benek's face with his tongue, barely petting his skin, lips browsing.

Benek strained upward, wanting, needing more of the tantalizing touches. He swallowed, caught his breath as the king took his time, gentling his new lover. When the kiss finally came, it was slow and deep, Benek calmer after the king pulled back.

"Better?"

Benek nodded.

"Last part of the lesson," whispered Quen. He released one of Benek's wrists and shifted both of them onto their sides, facing each other.

Quen wrapped a hand around Benek's erection, making him buck. "Oaahhaggh." A moment later he gulped when Quen put Benek's hand onto his own erection. They lay there a moment, fingers wrapped about each other's organs.

"Feel it. Don't be afraid." Quen urged Benek's hand to move before taking his free hand and fondling Benek's nipples.

"Oh, god," breathed Benek. He allowed himself to begin running his fingers up and down the substantial length of Quen's penis. The skin was soft, softer than he had expected, but he had no idea why that would be surprising. The sparks from his nipples were warring with the tingle running up and down his spine and into his balls. "Ahhh," he moaned when Quen began massaging his cock.

"Don't stop." Quen's voice was rough and he started working Benek's cock more with more urgency.

Benek was beyond words, ignoring the sting of sweat in his eyes as he focused on the sensations ripping through him, the feel of Quen's cock in his hand, the fire in his gut as Quen worked his magic on him.

Both men were beyond aroused and within moments hips were pumping. Quen reached out with his free arm and pulled Benek close, eagerly seeking his lips as their sweat-slicked bodies writhed.

Benek could not see for the fire scorching the back of his eyes. The raw passion that consumed him made him urgently grind and thrust. Their cocks came together, sliding against each other in fervent longing. He couldn't tell who was groaning with lust and didn't care.

Faster they moved, riding each other, slamming together as their fever rose. The single candle guttered, fluttered and the flame flared to a final brilliant death as a shout of consummation bounced off the canopied walls, both men stiffening, heads back, before collapsing together.

Benek stirred. His eyes opened to darkness, and it took a moment to remember where he was. Heat filled him, surrounded him, a tender warmth of passions fulfilled. Benek started to move, but an arm held him in place. He realized he was lying against Quen.

"My lord?" Benek decided he was fine right where he was.

"Benek, my bard." Quen's voice was sleepy. He pulled Benek in to nestle against him and dragged the covers over them both. "Stay with me, my Benek."

"Aye, my liege." Benek smiled as he draped an arm over Quen. Yes, he was very fine indeed right where he was.

 

Finis


End file.
